THE RUBIES OF OMERON
or
THE BATTLE FOR DERVISH'S SWORD
or
HOW I SPENT MY SAINT MARKSMAN'S HOLIDAY

White-hot lightning forked through the deep blue sky, reflecting in the warm cerulean waters of the Zebulint Sea. On the pale sand of the beach, a coffee-colored piece of driftwood served as a divan for two young bronzed young adventurers.

The first surveyed his surroundings morosely. He was a tall grizzled muscular bronzed fellow with sparkling dandelion eyes and ample shoulder-length flaxen hair. At not an inch over six foot one, he was every inch the incarnation of rough and ready.

At seven eighths of his height, his companion's nose was at the level of her companion's chin. Her laughing lapis lazuli eyes looked into his, which complemented hers nicely. "This seemest to be rather romantic, Jett," she mused delicately, placing a wan hand delicately upon his flaxen brow. "That raging tempest may have capsized our brig, but it didst give us a remarkable opportunity to catch up on our stargazing."

He chortled, stroking her burnt sienna locks, abandoning grief at the demise of their stout sailing vessel in the silken magic experienced by his fingers as he ran them through the umber tendrils of her chestnut coiffure. His eyes twinkled as he allowed a light chuckle to escape his weatherbeaten yet soft lips. "Alas, Melandria, thou seemest to be spending more time gazing at mine dandelion eyes than at said stars."

"That is because they not be out yet," she chided, swatting him lightly on his high intelligent forehead. "Notice the ruby hues suffusing the sky."

"Gosh," he chuckled ruefully. "I hadst been in such a coma that I didst, methinks, think itst were night when in fact--"

She cut him off with a melancholy kiss. Her carmine lips beat a staccato upon the sandy beach as she suddenly tumbled over after he wasn't there. For suddenly he had moved his arm.

She brushed sand from her raw ochre tresses, pouting sulkily. "How canst thou be so certain?" she inquired poutily. "Hadst we not be better to scour the savage coast of this untracked land mass which may either be a surf-washed island or jagged promontory?"

"Prithee why, by our lady Gribulda of pirates and jackals?" inquired the towheaded young lad.

Rather than answer, she flounced off down the sandy coast, her leathern boots leaving imprints in the sand destined to be lapped by the rising tide.

"Hark! Dost thou hearest the angry cries of a bestarved vulture or other nasty?" inquired the tall lanky long-haired silken-haired emerald-haired pickpocket whose pallor of skin and hue of locks was explained by his ancestry which was four-ninths elf and one-ninth dryad. His pale turquoise skin accented his shimmering ruby eyes and around his head he wore a leather headband of the simple ebony hue. Upon his feet he wore boots of a similar substance, and upon his slim figure he wore a jerkin and trews to match his hair. Hanging from his shoulders and offsetting the emerald character of his appearance hung an emerald. He also wore an onyx vest which customarily was under the emerald but over the jerkin. At his belt, which in appearance and material matched his headband and his boots, there hung a grappling hook on his right flank and on his left, a poniard in a simple, unardorned, gold scabbard. The jewel-encrusted hilt of his poniard matched the eyes of Jett, who has been mentioned in the aforementioned scene. Apart from these acoutrements, his only weapons was an unstrung longbow which hung casually from his wiry left shoulder. He also had some arrows, too. They nestled in a leather quiver which, companion pieces to the bow, graced his right shoulder which was equally wiry. To sum up, this composite man, as it were, part elf, part human, and part dryad, presented the appearance of one who lived by his wits, and, most probably, would die by that same token, although like as not, he would take a few others with him. For the merry twinkle in his eye bespoke of one who was both clever and quick-witted and who had a silver tongue to charm all who would listen to him.

His companion nodded.2 His companion was a short, pudgy little fellow, whose red shiny cheeks peeked out like a shy parlormaid between the frame of a wiry ebony beard and weighty moustache. He stood no higher than the famous silver statue of the goddess Munt, which in turn was a scant five inches shorter than Melandria. So short and diminutive was he that the frame of the elf, of whom it is said that normally elves are shorter than most human, was a full three-quarters of a head taller than the pudgy gentleman, or the statue. This little fellow was sleepy-eyed and lazy-looking, and his wits had obviossly been dulled by excessive winebibbery, and he clearly could drink better than he could think. He was wearing predominantly blue.

The elven rascal patted his little companion on the noggin. "Methinks we should investigate, for I hear the clink of gold in that distant sound," he confided. "My elfin ears, inherited from my sylvan ancestry, allow me to know this."

"Mayhap there may be a tankard of mead at that place?" suggested his rotund compatriot, licking a pair of cherry-colored chops.

"Oh, Gauss, thou art a veritable wine cask," the elf chided. "Dost not the glimmer of gold shine more brightly than the glint of bubbles in a Gromporian wine?"

"Mayhap," responded the short chap addressed as Gauss, "but even thou must admit that the taste of gold leaves something to be desired, friend Halfnight."

"Thou hast me there," chortled the taller and slimmer one of the pair.

Thou shouldst stop reading this tripe and do your chores mow the lawn get a job fill up my gas tank ya bum!